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The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does our garden grow? Here at Saint Mary’s our garden grows—flourishes—thanks to the hard work of a cadre of dedicated parishioners who plant and weed and water. It grows thanks to the vision of Father Nicholson who established it and a throng of others who’ve supported that vision over the years. And it grows in the fertile soil, nourished by the gentle rains, gifts of God, our Creator. Today’s gospel, like last week’s, is rooted in images of soil and seed, growth and harvest, metaphors that resonate deeply at a place like Saint Mary’s. Last week’s parable of the sower reflected on the fate of the seeds that fell on different types of ground—the seeds that fell on the path being eaten by the birds, the seeds that fell on the rocky soil dying quickly because of shallow roots, the seeds that fell on the fertile soil flourishing and bearing an abundant harvest. One of those images is carried over into the parable that comprises today’s gospel—seeds that are sown in fields also contaminated with weeds. Last week’s parable warned us that the weeds might choke out the desired plants, but this week’s parable gives us a slightly different take on living amongst the weeds. In today’s parable we hear of a landowner who has sown his seeds carefully into a presumably well-tended field. All should be well, but in the dark of night the landowner’s enemy comes skulking by and adds some more seeds—this time seeds that will produce only weeds. As the plants begin to sprout it becomes obvious that there is more than the desired wheat growing in the field, but when the workers ask their master if they should pull out the offending weeds, he surprises them by saying no. Let them be, he says, because if you pull them out now you might harm the wheat as well. Let them be and at the time of the harvest then we’ll deal with the weeds. Just as in last week’s gospel, Jesus tells this story to the crowds and then goes on to explain its meaning to his disciples. And just as in the parable of the sower, he explains, the seeds are meant to represent the word of God, the message Jesus has been preaching and teaching. The wheat represents those who hear and believe, those whose faith grows and flourishes, while the weeds represent those who fail to hear, who, for whatever reason, don’t get it. The weeds of course were sown by the Enemy, the evil one—Satan—and while their presence poses a danger for the wheat, the children of faith, Jesus tells his disciples that that is not their concern—at the appropriate time, God will be the judge, the good and evil will be sorted out, and the wicked will be punished while the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. This is, of course, at its heart an eschatological message—at the eschaton, the end time, we will all be called into judgment, called to account for how we have lived, and judged for eternity. In the context of Matthew’s gospel, written to a group of Christ followers struggling to define their place in a tumultuous religious landscape this was meant to be reassuring rather than threatening or frightening. The faithful would be judged, yes, but they would be rewarded for their perseverance in the faith while the unfaithful would receive their due punishment. That eschatological message is of course there for us today as well, and ultimately, just as it was for Matthew’s original audience, it should be a reassuring message for us. What we do matters, it tells us; it matters for the lives we live now and it matters for our lives into eternity. But there is another message for us as well, in this parable, a message that has much to do with how we live in the here and now, and that has to do with living amid the weeds. Living amongst a congregation of gardeners as I do here at Saint Mary’s I have become very aware of my woeful lack of knowledge about plants and about gardening. I know lots of stuff, and I know how to do many things, but gardening is not in my repertoire. In fact, I find gardening intimidating. Many of you will find that incredulous or funny or even ridiculous but it’s true. And one of the things I find intimidating is telling the good plants from the weeds. When I look at the flower beds around the rectory I can tell they need some work; I can identify some errant grass and dandelions and the like, but honestly, beyond that I am afraid to start pulling things out for fear of pulling out something that was meant to be there. Recently though, a wise person gave me this bit of advice. Weeds, she said, are just the plants we’ve decided we don’t want. Weeds are just the plants we’ve decided that we don’t want and if that is the case, one person’s weed may be another’s treasured plant. And sometimes we can’t tell the difference. Jesus tell his disciples that at the end time he will send his angels and all will be sorted out, but in the meantime, it is not theirs to judge. Perhaps one reason it was not theirs to judge was because it is not always easy to tell the weeds from the wheat. Jesus himself consorted with sinners and low life, those shunned by mainstream society—those who might have been seen as weeds by most. And yet Jesus counted them as valued members of the kingdom of God. And so it is for us today. We cannot always tell the weeds from the wheat and what one might call a weed, another would treasure. It is not ours to judge—it is God’s. We are called not to judge, not to pull out the weeds around us, but rather to live amongst them. This is an apt message for us on many levels both within and without the church, because in both the church and the larger world there seems to be great emphasis on sorting out the weeds and getting rid of them—those who disagree with us on matters large and small, those whose beliefs seem to challenge ours, those who are different. It’s a message we hear in the political world and it’s one that has been at the root of great discord and strife in the religious world throughout history. It’s also a message we hear being proclaimed these days within our own Anglican Communion. Even as our bishops meet together in Lambeth to learn from one another and to find unity in prayer and worship, there are those whose focus is fixed not on growing and flourishing together despite our differences—as Anglicans have done since the days of Elizabeth I—but rather on pulling up and getting rid of those who are seen as suspect by the group who see themselves as custodians of the truth. Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does our garden grow in the Kingdom of God? It grows with prayer, both on our own and in community. It grows with worship-coming together to be nourished by the Eucharist. It grows with following Jesus—not just hearing his words but doing his deeds. It grows as we move about in the world even amongst the weeds, loving our neighbors—all of them—and loving God. AMEN
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